IVerses 

DOLF 




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Class. 

PieESENTED BY ^ * 



VERSES 



VERSES 



BY 



DOLE W^XLARDE 



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NEW YORK 

JOHN LANE COMPANY 

MCMXI 






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PRINTED in, GREAT BRITAIN 



MAY t ISi; 



PREFACE 

Two years ago I stated, in the preface to " Rose- 
white Youth/' that I was not intending to publish 
a book of verse ; because I thought — and still think 
— that there is quite enough mediocre verse already 
in print. But I have been driven to making a 
small collection of my verses, because I found that 
several which had been published without my name, 
or even in my books if the authorship were not 
expressly stated, had been quoted in other publica- 
tions, and unavoidably attributed to some other 
authorship than my own. 

I am indebted to the Westminster Gazette, to the 
Pall Mall Gazette, to the Gentlewoman, and to Country 
Life for permission to reprint certain of the verses 
that have appeared in their pages; and to Messrs. 
Heinemann, Messrs. Methuen, Messrs. Gassell, and 
Messrs. Hurst & Blackett for permission to reprint 
verses from books of mine published by them. 

DOLF WYLLARDE. 



CONTENTS 



PA OK 



The Ingrate ..... 


. 11 


King Mark. . . . . 


14 


Satanelle ...... 


16 


'' Whom the Gods Love " 


. 17 


A Sonnet of Love .... 


19 


The Great Burh .... 


19 


The Ballad of the King's Jester 


22 


Quatrains ...... 


23 


Roundel ...... 


24 


A Love Song ..... 


25 


A Year of Triolets . . . . . 


26 


Wayside Roses ...... 


30 


Quatrain ....... 


33 


Journalism. ...... 


33 


My Princess ...... 


35 


The Death-dancers . . . . . 


39 


Rondeau ....... 


41 


7 





8 CONTENTS 

Benison • . . . . 

Insomnia ..... 

Cry Aloud .... 

Roundel ..... 

The Battle of the New Age 

Jealous ..... 

The Game of Life 

To Mignon . . . . 

Sonnet : Satan .... 

In Illness ..... 

In Paradise 

La Grande Passion . 

Magna est Natura, et Prevalebit 

A Ballad of Late Spring . 

Lower London 

Lord God of Battles 

Bloom de Ninon 

To A. G 

A Confession of Faith 

A Wet June .... 

RONDEAUX d'AmOUR 

In the Time of Silence 



The Ballad of the Ship . 


PAQB 

. 66 


Folk Song 


. 67 


The Ballad of the Literary Hack . 


. 68 


For the Nation ..... 


69 


The Ship Masters .... 


71 


The Flower-seller .... 


. 73 


Cricket ...... 


74 


To My Cigarette .... 


. 76 


The Ruling Passion .... 


76 


On the Devonshire Downs 


78 


Staddon Heights .... 


79 


Devon Rhyme . . . . 


80 


Outward Bound .... 


82 


Homeward Bound . . . . , 


84 


A Ballad of Jamaican Fruits . 


85 


In Extremis ...... 


86 


The Ballad of the Australian Passage . 


87 


A Bush Fire ...... 


89 


Port Said ....... 


90 


Cairo ........ 


92 


In the Carmo Garden . . . . 


92 


A Sun Song ...... 


94 



10 CONTENTS 






PAGE 


The Creations of a Voice . 


94 


A. Marriage of Convenience 


96 


Words without Music 


. 97 


Heterodox 




97 


Maud . . 




98 


Roundel 




. 98 


Pantoun 




99 


Trifles 




101 


'* I CANNOT TELL " 




. 102 


The Banished . 




103 


Lying in State . 




104 


A Child's Roundelay 




105 


Mirage .... 




107 


LOTI ..... 




108 


The Ballad of the Bar Sinister 


109 


Ye Ballade of ye Journalists . 


111 


In Memoriam ...... 


112 


Sonnet .... 




113 



VERSES 



THE IXGRATE 

The buck came out from the herd 

With a wound in his side — 
Came out to the open Moor and the dark 
From the fallow deer of his lordship's park — 
Strayed through the gates from the dappled herd, 

That none should tell where he died. 

Moor and fell and red heather 

Went up to a sombre sky 

WTiere the buck went out to die. — 
The great red Moor, where the brockets play, 
And the great red harts who stamp and bray, 

And the antlers clash together I 

The wounded buck from his lordship's park 
Came slow through the good red heather ; 
And the wound gaped wide in his dappled side, 
And he looked for a lonely place to die 
I^he wild red herd should pass him by. — 

11 



12 THE INGRATE 

Till the moon came up through a fleecy sky, 
And the herd went by — the red herd went by — 

Adrift through the distant heather. 
Hart and brocket and hind with her fawn, 
A living streamer of stately scorn. — 
And the king of his lordship's dappled deer 

Lay stark in the stormless weather. 

The red herd went by the open Moor, 
By Bannanscaun with a royal spoor. 
A little red hind in her virgin year. 
That had not known the fetterless deer, 
Broke out to the rolling heather. 
By the sinking flank and the branching head 
She knelt and licked the wounds of the dead. 
Till the life came back — oh the life came back — 
To the full dark eyes and the limbs grown slack. 
She crouched, she tended, until he stirred — 
Till the dying king of his lordship's herd 

Rose up and followed her, faint and blind : — 
The dappled stag and the little red hind 
Went out to the Moors together. 

She showed him the bracken bed to lie. 
The threatening signs of a wrathful sky ; 
The lair to choose, and the lair to lose 

\Yhen the rutting threatened a stranger. ^ 



THE EsGRATE 13 

She licked his wounds till the warm side healed, 
She led him away from the slot revealed — 

The slot of her herd, and danger I 
She showed him the hidden valley stream 
And the feeding-ground when the night's a-dream 

And no fear from a dayhght ranger. 
He lay in the fern and healed his pride — 

The king whom the fallow deer were scorning ! 
And the little red hind at his dappled side 

Lay close tiU many a morning. 



The buck rose up in his strength 

One day in the gloaming — 
And he came at length and at length 

To the place from which he was long a-roaming. 
He snuffed and he stamped on the Mooriand stark, 
And he belled aloud to his lordship's park — 

To the dappled herd that knew him — 

To the gates that were opened to him. 



But the little red hind on the Mooriand side 
Ran up, ran down, and cried and cried. 
Her wild brown eyes on the fenced space. 
Her hovering foot caught back from its pace. — 
She could go no more with a tireless speed 



14 THE INGRATE 

Where the red deer follow the great hart's lead, 

More fleet than the Moorland bird. — 
She cried and quivered from dark to dark 
At the fast-closed gates of his lordship's park. — 

The buck went back to the herd. 



KING MARK 

King Mark has lit his battle torch, 
And marched into the Border Land, 
His legions lift the pennon far 
Across the startled plain ; 
And many a distant land shall scorch, 

With sparks dropped from his flaming brand, 
And many a homestead smell of war, 
Ere he come back again. 

Two by two his warriors ride, 

And four by four his henchmen run. 
Before him lie the lands to sack, 
Behind him fly the crows ; 
There's none so wise and wary-eyed. 
So keen to smell the carrion — none 
As they who follow at his back 
To sup upon his foes. 



KING MARK 15 

As grim as death the faces show 
Beneath the lurid battle flame, 
And iron grip of iron hand 
Is on the steel they bear. 
The land is reddened where they go, 
The land is redder whence they came, 
The folk who fill the Border Land, 
With rapine and despair. 

The serf who labours on the soil, 
In barren toil for bitter bread, 

Lifts stricken eyes to see that band, 
Ride two and two abreast. 
He leaves his unavailing toil, 

And counts himself among the dead. 
The scourge is out across the land — 
King Mark is marching West I 

The cities which awake to meet 

The doom that charges in the night. 
Arise bewildered in the dark. — 
At morning, men who die, 
Hear muffled hoofs in faint retreat, 
And shouting legions out of sight, 
*' Ayie — Ayie — Ayie, King Mark — 
Ayie 1 Ayie I Ayie." 



16 SATANELLE 



SATANELLE 



I KNOW no more than this — 

That she is fair, 
With lips for me to kiss, 
And silken hair 
Spread like a net to catch me unaware. 

Though she say no wise thing 

With those red lips, 
I know that they can sing 

My soul's eclipse, 
And in and out their curves the dimple slip 

Satan creating her, 

Gave her as well 
No soul as I infer, — 

But I can tell 
He made at least one lovely thing in Hell. 

She is most dainty-sweet 

Of all fair things ; 
With rosy hands and feet, 

About her clings 
The breath of violets her presence brings. 



SATANELLE 17 

And she has ways that make 

All wisdom mad. 
Until my pulses ache 

With being glad, — 
And yet even her laughter Is so sad ! 

Men call her Satanelle. 

But she to me 
Has been as much as — well, 

As such things be, 
And will be still a little memory. 

"WHOM THE GODS LOVE *' 



I CAME to the Temple of Bacchus when morning 

was red on the feast, 
And the stallions of Phoebus Apollo were champing 

their bits in the East. 
The goblets were filled to the brim, and the foam on 

the wine sparkled high, 
And I said,. 

" Let us drink : 
We must die/' 

I followed the chariot of Mars all day long on the 

sweltering plain. 
And my heart waxed wild with the slaying, my hands 

were all red with the slain, 

2 



18 ''WHOM THE GODS LOVE 



The lust of men's blood was upon me, I smote, and 

the foe turned to fly, 
And I said, 

'' Let us fight : 

We must die." 



Where the Palace of Venus is rosy, surrendered to 

sensuous sight, 
I lay on the flowers of desire and swooned with the 

bliss and delight. 
From the kiss of the lips to the clasp of the arms, 

in oblivion we lie, 
For I said, 

'' Let us love : 

We must die.'' 



And the horror of night came down, and fought 

with the glory of day. 
I gazed with a sweet, sad awe, and could not turn 

me away. 
Knowing the face of my King. And I bowed, but 

I asked not why. 
For I said, 

'* It is over: 
I die." 



A SONNET OF LOVE 19 

A SONNET OF LOVE 

I MET Love down among the marriage-meads, 
With wordless sorrow in his blinded eyes ; 
And he was wailing to his enemies 

To bind the bitter wounds that no one heeds. 

For all his friends are fain of loveless deeds, 
And careless though he wander, phantom-wise, 
Treading the dust of bitter memories. 

And thorns of sorrow, with a foot that bleeds. 

Great thorns and briars lay to left and right ; 
He stumbled — golden though his path appears — 
Sobbing beneath his breath as one who fears. 

Because his way lay through an endless night. 
And then I saw his eyes were dark with tears — 

The perfect eyes that never knew the light. 



THE GREAT BURH 

•• A great Burh, Limdunaborg, which is the greatest and most 
famous of all Bm-hs in the northern lands." 

Ragnar Lodbrok Saga, 

A King of the barbarous ages 

Once reigned o'er an Isle in the sea — 

He built him a City by stages. 

Mud-walled, and a Burh of degree ; 



20 THE GREAT BURH 

He cradled her fast by the River, 
He built her for future renown. 
That the world should remember for ever 
King Lud, and his Towne I 



Though all but his name be forgotten, 
His tomb by the Gate * be unknown, 

The City his love had begotten 
Rose steadily, stone upon stone ; 

Her Monarchs were still her defenders 
From every encroachment of Time's— 

Unspoken her myriad splendours, 
Unnumbered her crimes ! 



She stands in Lud's olden foundations 
Unmoved by the passing of years ; 

Her stones are untold lamentations 
Cemented by manifold tears. 

She widened the sphere of her glory. 
She wrote it in letters of flame. 

And Time is repeating her story, 
And singing her shame. 

* ** Later, King Lud surrounded the City with strong walls 
and towers, and called it Caer Lud ; when he died his body was 
buried by the gate which is called in the British tongue Porthlud, 
and in the Saxon ' Ludesgata.' *' 

W. R. Lethaby, London before the Conquest, 



THE GREAT BURH 21 

Her gems are the blood of her people, 
Whose youth and desire is a wraith ; 

Her crown is the dome and the steeple 
Raised high on the wreckage of faith ; 

Too sohdly built to dismember, 

Yet founded and fostered in mud, — 

And through her the Nations remember 
The name of King Lud I 

She is old with the crimes of For Ever, 
She is young with the sins of To-day ; 

She is sovereign eternally, whether 
Her tresses be golden or grey. 

She has steeped her in vices stupendous. 
Yet her churches are laid to her heart — 

In the midst of her traffic tremendous, 
The clang of her mart. 

King Thames as a part of her story 
Goes murmuring under her walls ; 

He sings her a song of her glory 
That gathers, and rises, and falls. 

Queen London looks down from her towers 
To catch the refrain of her pride ; 

They twain are invincible powers, 
The bridegroom and bride. 



22 THE GREAT BURH 

The City who sins and who sorrows, 
The River who lies at her breast — 

Look onward through nameless to-morrows, 
There cometh the time of their rest I 

A time when the River below her 
Shall find her no more in the mud, 

And history only shall know her — 
A name, like King Lud I 



THE BALLAD OF THE KING'S JESTER 

I, WHO have been my royal master's guest 

These many years — I count not how time flies — 
Appeal to all the world that I may rest 
From the great burden of my pleasantries. 
For I am all a-weary of the skies, 

And doubly weary of the witless rule 
That doth demand a jest of man that dies. 
I pray you pity me that am a fool 1 

If I were sad it hath gone unconfessed. 
Or hidden safely under wit's disguise. 

Men shake their heads, and say, '* The fool is blest," 
Because I laugh whereat another cries I 
He who calls folly good, I say he lies I 
I have learned wisdom in a bitter school. 



THE BALLAD OF THE KING'S JESTER 23 

O you who find it heavy to be wise, 
I pray you pity me that am a fool 1 



There is a lady — in her stainless breast 

Beateth a heart of boundless sympathies ; 
Because I meet her with a bitter jest 

She smiles at me, and wingeth her replies. 
O, all sweet lovers, by your endless sighs, 

How shall I keep my throbbing pulses cool ? 
Might not a sage have languished for her eyes ? 

I pray you pity me that am a fool. 

ENVOI 

Alas I I may not let my tears arise 

Like other men — I am the Public's tool I 

A weeping clown the Public would despise — 
I pray you pity me that am a fool ! 



QUATRAINS 

LIFE 

Man finds no new thing in eternal rounds 
Of being born to suffer and to die. 

Life is a repetition of old sounds 
Upon the cynic lips of Destiny. 



24 QUATRAINS 

LOVE 

This alone of all things justifies its right — 
One sufficient reason for the pangs we bear ; 

Heaven has no guerdon, Earth will not requite — 
Those who love completely touch a God's despair. 

LOSS 

Once, when I was young, I hoped without attaining, 
Yet I felt all Earth was well within my scope ; 

Something we must lose for all that we are gaining — 
Now I have attained, but I no longer hope, 

ROUNDEL 

You offered me a heart that twice 

Already had been held in fee ; 
In Life's whole apple, one small slice 
You offered me. 

Must this unfair requital be 
For frankincense and myrrh and spice 
Of all my love's supremacy ? 

To please yourself beyond all price 

Your last desire is your decree. 
And as a fitting sacrifice 
You offered — me 1 



A LOVE SONG 25 

A LOVE SONG 

When you go through the gates of Death, 

Leave them ajar for me — 
I shall not draw another breath 

Before your face I see. 

They'll lay me straight beneath the sheet. 

Gross hands upon my breast, 
And say, '* How's this ? His face is sweet — 

He lies as if at rest. 

" He looks as one who conquers peace 

After a weary fight ; 
And yet we know — hush ! speak it low — 

He could not sleep at night/' 

But I shall be beyond their pain. 

These whispers of the sun ; 
Hurrying after you again, 

As I have always done. 

You'll hear my feet a moment beat 

Behind you — who can tell ? — 
Before you vanish Heavenwards, 

And I go on to Hell. 



26 A LOVE SONG 

And you may pause and turn your face 

To look upon my pain, 
Though all through Life's unresting race 

I followed you in vain. 



(O bitter, bitter was the strife, 
Weary am I of breath; 

But sadder still the pain of Life 
Against the calm of Death.) 

If I may dare to kneel before 
The lowest stair of Heaven, 

rU see you pass the golden door 
And dream I am forgiven. 



A YEAR OF TRIOLETS 

January 
Has brought the snow. 
The great frost fairy, 

January, 
Nips th' unwary 
Faint buds that blow. 

January 
Has brought the snow. 



A YEAR OF TRIOLETS 27 

The year is moving slowly on — 

February's come. 
Before we guess the first month gone, 
The year is moving slowly on ; 
Snowdrops will be here anon 

Though the skies are glum. 
The year is moving slowly on — 

February's come. 



Here's a blast of wind ! — 

March is fairly on us. 
Dust enough to blind — 
Here's a blast of wind I 
Yet her gifts are kind, 

And violets have won us. 
Here's a blast of wind I— 
March is fairly on us. 



April has kissed her, 
And March flies away ; 

For her sweet sister, 

April, has kissed her. 

And we never missed her. 
Our hearts were so gay. 

April has kissed her. 
And March flies away. 



28 A YEAR OF TRIOLETS 

O, sweet May is the month for loving, 

Tender-hearted is Maiden May. 
When the sap of the world is stirred and moving, 
O, sweet May is the month for loving ; 
And hand in hand we will go a-roving, 

And smile and sigh through the livelong day. 
O, sweet May is the month for loving, 

Tender-hearted is Maiden May. 



You and I in passion-hearted June, 

Wandering through fairy-land together ; 

Singing, as seemed meet, some old-world rune,- 

You and I in passion-hearted June. 

All too sweetly were our hearts in tune 
With the secret of the summer weather. 

You and I in passion-hearted June, 
Wandering through fairy-land together. 

July breathes a drowsy sigh, 

And life forgets its sorrow. 
Underneath a cloudless sky 
July breathes a drowsy sigh ; 
In a heaven of sleep we lie. 

All heedless of to-morrow. 
July breathes a drowsy sigh, 

And life forgets its sorrow. 



A YEAR OF TRIOLETS 29 

O, breeze from the sea, that comes creeping 

\Mien August has never a breath I 
Like wine in the blood that is leaping — 
O, breeze from the sea, that comes creeping 1 — 
And memory, nourished by weeping, 

Is hushed into slumber or death. 
O, breeze from the sea, that comes creeping 

WTien August has never a breath ! 



September is the season of regret, 

For then the year first falters, and looks back. 
And if in August we would fain forget, 
September is the season of regret. 
The fadmg hues of summer Unger yet, 

And mock us by the sweetness that they lack. 
September is the season of regret. 

For then the year first falters, and looks back. 

O, month too full of memories — 

Alas, October ! 
Frosts of the Winter chill thy breeze, 
O, month too full of memories ! 
The ragged branches of the trees 

Grow yet more sober. 
O, month too full of memories — 

Alas, October 1 



30 A YEAR OF TRIOLETS 

November drags a veil of mist 

In pity through the land. 
'Neath skies of fainter amethyst, 
November drags a veil of mist. 
And on the earth by sun unkissed 

She lays a tender hand. 
November drags a veil of mist 
In pity through the land. 



White-haired December 

Comes slowly down the hill ; 

'Tis the fire's last ember, 

White-haired December 

All that we remember 

Grows white — and cold — and still 

White-haired December 

Comes slowly down the hill. 



WAYSIDE ROSES 

All your face is a wild dog-rose, 

Pink flushed into white, — 
Yourself a flower that buds and blows 

Solely for my delight ; 
Your pouting mouth is a bud new-born 
Of dew and sunshine this very morn. 



WAYSIDE ROSES 31 

Green boughs shut out the light and the heat — 
Over and under the wild way closes — 
Come ! a kiss for your roses, 

Sweet ! 
Come ! a kiss for your roses ! 



O you child of the Summer and sun, 

How fresh they have made you — how fair I 
With the warmth of the sun-heat newly spun 

In the ruddy lengths of your hair ! 
Into the wood's heart, hand in hand, 
See, I will lead you to fairy-land. 

Too dark are the shadows to show your blush, 
Roses to peonies shaded purely — 
Into a new world, surely — 

Hush ! 
Into a new world, surely. 

Sing, sweet lark in the fields beyond, 

Safe in the fields and the light ; 
" Trust no guidance, however fond. 

That chooses the screen of night I " 
Folly I — Answer, linnet and thrush, 
" We keep the secret of ' hush ' and ' blush '/' 
The light is lost and the woods are deep, 
Ask no question that breathes of sorrow ; 



32 WAYSIDE ROSES 

Who knows the dawn of to-morrow ? 

Sleep ! 
Who knows the dawn of to-morrow ? 

Leaf on leaf in the green network 
That shuts us in with our fate, 
Through which if a gleam astray should lurk 

Who knows but it comes too late ? 
Chase the inquisitive sun from this place, 
Lighting a glimpse of a frightened face 

That I see like a dream in our dim retreat. 
Under and over the wild way closes. 
And what's become of your roses. 

Sweet ? 
What has become of your roses ? 

" A new world surely ! " But where's the old ? 

What word did the wood repeat ? 
Childhood lost like a tale that is told, 

And youth made rough for your feet. 
The little gay lark has a note of pain, 
And sings his song with a minor refrain. 
The thick green boughs interlace above 
In Eden's ageless, primeval fashion. 
While Nature still miscalls passion. 

Love, — 
Nature still miscalls passion. 



WAYSIDE ROSES 3S 

Out of the wood the path runs down, 

Down, down in an endless steep ; 
And the burnt-up grasses are sere and brown, 

And whisper in guilty sleep. 
The west is burnt with an angry glare, 
Red as the lengths of your falling hair, 

And a line of flame at the black cloud's edge, 
Which marks the Sun-god*s last retreat, 

Under and over the wild way closes. 
Bare and torn is the ravished hedge 
Whence I plucked the wayside roses. 

Sweet — 
Ah sweet I were the wayside roses. 

QUATRAIN 

FAME 

In a corner of the world 

They blew a passing breath, 
Gilded a name, gemmed it, empearled, — 

And then came death. 

JOURNALISM 

I, THE servant of the Public, and the subject of 

their will, 
Wait in silence for an order which I live but to fulfil. 
When my life is numb with training, and my heart 

is very still. 

3 



34 JOURNALISM 

I have bartered youth and pleasure for the labour 

they demand, 
I have sold my brain by sections, and the work of 

my right hand, — 
And they throw me coins, but they will not deign 

to understand. 



I have let the Public scourge me, and have knelt 

and kissed the rod. 
If I ever had ideals, they were broken at its nod, — 
If a private hope, I sacrificed it straightly to this 

God. 



I have neither hope nor courage — as I shall be I 

have been. 
I am but the smallest detail in an infinite machine. 
Unrecorded, unrequited, — lost amid the great 

UNSEEN. 



Now I stand before my tyrants — will they please to 

save or kill ? 
For their pleasure is my labour — at their summons 

is my skill ; — 
I, the servant of the Public, and the subject of 

their will I 



MY PRINCESS 35 

MY PRINCESS 
(to ethel) 

She was regnant of the lilies, 

My Princess. 
And the roses waited on her 
As her rightful Maids of Honour ; 
She dispensing praise or pardon 
In her kingdom of the garden. 
While the daisies in the grass 
Thronged to feel her footsteps pass, 
And the yellow daffodillies 

Kissed her dress. 
Every flower as it came 
In its order did proclaim 

Her Princess. 

It was in a magic Spring 

She was crowned ; 
All the birds began to sing 

Miles around. 
But her own, her feathered choir, 
Did the merriest theme inspire — 
What a coronation-song 

Did the throbbing throats express, 
To declare her, hundreds strong, 

Their Princess I 



36 MY PRINCESS 

She had other courtiers there 

Even then, 
Though the clumsy creatures were 

Merely men. 
But we humbly owned her sway, 

While she held her laughing court ; 
And we loved her as men may, — 
Not, alas I as subjects ought I 
Ah, Princess I we were but human — 

Did you guess ? 
And you were most purely woman. 

Though Princess. 

It was sweet to serve and wait 

At her word, 
Sweet to keep her mimic state 

With flower and bird. 
All so sweet that now to-day. 
With the sweetness far away, 
I can see it all again. 
Till a mist of tears or pain 

Dims my eyes — 
I can still recall the glory 
Of the never-finished story. 
And the secret garden-charm. 
And the summer, and the calm 

Of the skies, — 



MY PRINCESS 37 

I can hear the foolish babble 
Of her courtiers in a rabble, 
As they followed in her train, 

Paying court and compliments, 
With applause and laughter hearty 
When the Jester of the party 
Shot an arrow from his brain 

At a rival swain's expense, — 
Or our Poet who would sigh her 
Half a ballad he had written 
When his heart was newly smitten 

By her sweets and subtleties, — 
And our Croesus who would buy her 

With his gems and satin dresses. 

Weigh his gold against her tresses, — 

Match his sapphires with her eyes. 
Though she wasted scant emotion 
On his L. S. D. devotion, 

Nor, so rich in other wealth. 
For his satin-coated horses. 
For his chef and seven courses, 

Would she sell her pretty self. — 
Ah those days I I ask no pardon 

If I openly confess 
That my sweetest dream of Heaven 
Borrows something from them even. 
Was not Paradise a Garden, 
My Princess ? 



38 MY PRINCESS 

Well, the Summer skies cloud over, 
And the swallow is a rover. 
Now the walks are all forsaken, 

Or by ghosts inhabited. 
And the vague regrets that waken. 
And the hopes that were mistaken, 

Are the only things not fled. 
But though never mine to own her, 
I am gladder having known her, 
And my heart may still enthrone her 

With the Summer that is dead. 
Though no shadow ever crossed her 

That she guessed the secret smart. 
Though I think it hardly cost her 

Half a pang that we should part — 
I would rather, in my dreaming, 
See her with her hair a-gleaming, 
And her eyes with laughter beaming, 

Than a single tear should start. 
She is still, by love descried, 
Summer days personified. 
Though my little world has lost her, 

She is living — in my heart. 



THE DEATH-DANCERS 39 

THE DEATH-DANCERS 

" Dance thou with me/' he said. 

She turned from listening to lover's words 

Among fair budding trees and singing birds, 

And looked upon that line of living dead ; 

Because he said, 

" Dance thou with me/* — 

That Angel, beautiful indeed to see, 

But who gave strangest gifts in lover's stead — 

Strange gifts she did not choose, 

Yet might not that request refuse, 

" Dance thou with me I " 

" Dance thou with me,'' he said. 

The hearer dropped the page whereon he wrote, 

And sighed as if he caught the last sweet note 

The silent singing wrought within his head. 

(Because he said, 

'' Dance thou with me.") 

And while the Poet turned on land and sea 

Strange eyes from which the love of them had fled. 

That Angel's hand on his 

Had closed, and now it is, 

" Dance thou with me ! " 

*' Dance thou with me," he said. 

The mother threw her arms about the child, 



40 THE DEATH-DANCERS 

The father trained his lips and stiffly smiled 

As if to cheat his own unanswered dread ; 

Because he said, 

" Dance thou with me." 

The golden head drooped wistful at her knee, 

The tiny hand broke from the hand that led. 

And home was all bereft, 

Father and mother lonely left — 

" Dance thou with me I '' 

" Dance thou with me,'' he said. 

Blood lay upon the manuscript that night, 

Whereon a woman wrought, for all men's sight, 

A message, written in that living red. 

Because he said, 

" Dance thou with me." 

She whispered, '' If I might but dance with thee 

Rather than offer this for bitter bread ? " 

His summons then was stayed — 

She dropped about his feet, and prayed, 

" Dance thou with me I " 

" Dance thou with me — with me I 

Oh, what great claims have they whom thou hast called, 

Greater than I who am not once appalled ? 

What spell, that thou their hurrying feet hast sped ? " 

No more he said, 

*' Dance thou with me." 



THE DEATH-DANXERS 41 

That Angel, turning from her even as she 

Entreated, '' Number me among thy dead ! " 

He answered, '' Those who kiss my garment's hem 

I never say to them, 

' Dance thou with me.' " 



RONDEAU 
(to mignon) 

My little girl, with the sun-bright hair, 

Why were you made so unfairly fair ? 
A face like a rosebud blowTi in May, 
And eyes that are neither blue nor grey, 

But have borrowed of both for a double snare. 

They have given you more than your rightful share 
Of a mischievous beauty past compare, 

Those fairies that smiled on your christening day. 
My little girl! 

I am jealous, maybe, lest you should care 
For some one else, to my own despair; 
Some other heart which might make essay 
To steal a part of your love away ; — 
And yet you will always be, I swear. 
My little girl 1 



42 BENISON 



BEXISON 



Sleep kiss thine eyes, and take thee to his keeping, 
Saying unto thy soul, '' Have done with weeping." 
(But would that Death himself would bless my 
sleeping !) 

Dream that thy Paradise will last for ever. 
That life and joy have now no need to sever. 
(But when shall I be glad ? Ah, never ! never I) 

Love strip the thorns from off his roses for thee, 
And strew thy path with ravished buds before thee. 
(And what am I if Love himself adore thee ?) 

Fate change her frown to tenderness, and bless thee, 

And fortune never linger to caress thee. 

(I pray, and pray, lest sorrow should possess thee.) 

The great Gods pity thee when Time's reverses 
Have shown the end of all their loving mercies ; 
And thou shalt pray them rather for their curses ! 

INSOMNIA 

All through the solemn spaces of the night 
I lie with straining eyeballs, sear and hot ; ' 

I woo her as men woo for love's delight — 

The white mist-maiden Sleep, who loves me not. 



INSOMNIA 43 

She passes by me swift, and turns her face 
Before I catch the scarlet poppies' gleam ; 

To all men else she brings her gift and grace, 
To me she will not even grant a dream. 



The slow clocks tick my hopeless hope away ; 

Each hour struck is dealt me like a blow ; 
The blessed night that should console for day 

Is going, and I wake to hear it go. 

Day's dull monotony and fever-fret, 

That should be laid away a little space, — 

Yea, all the thousand things I would forget, 

Gome back again since Sleep has turned her face. 

And former nights, long buried, rise and weep 
That they have been misused — from out the sod, 

" This is the man,'' they say, '' who could not sleep I " 
As though some curse were meted me from God. 

I call no more on Sleep — despair is dumb ; 
Slowly the room changes from black to grey ; 



And then I know the weary dawn has come, 
And I have missed her for another day. 



44 CRY ALOUD! 

CRY ALOUD I 

" And there was no voice, neither any to answer . . ." 
Grant us, O God, a little space 

To taste our honey on the tongue, 
And meet our beauty face to face 
While we are young. 

Not much we ask — a space to breathe, 
To love Thine earth, and live among 
The flowers we have not time to wreathe 
While we are young. 

A little while to look up straight 

Into Thine heaven, serenely hung 
Over our heads in purple state, 
While we are young. 

With all our songs untouched by tears, 

With all our harps divinely strung — 
Unshadowed by Thy marching years 
While we are young. 

Too soon Thine ages sweep us down — 

Thy Future has a shadow flung 
Over our Present, with a frown, 
While we are young. 



CRY ALOUD I 45 

Leave one Ideal without speck — 

Grant us one Love that has not stung — 
A few Faiths, God, saved from the wreck, 
While we are young I 

ROUNDEL 

(*' MRS. GEORGE '') 

Her velvet eyes seem half asleep. 

And many a dream within them lies 
Of bygone days that taught to weep 
Her velvet eyes. 

The pleasure-pain of love's surprise — 
Some silent hope she might not reap — 
Have almost made them calm and wise ; 

Yet passion lingers, fathoms deep, 
Beneath their innocent disguise. 
And so within my heart I keep 
Her velvet eyes. 

THE BATTLE OF THE NEW AGE 
From '' The Pathway of the Pioneer " 
(nous autres) 
The Men came down from the mountains. 

And the Women came up from the plains, — 
The path through the crags was level, 
And the valley was heavy with rains. 



46 THE BATTLE OF THE NEW AGE 

There was neither justice nor pity — 
For wherever the foe might lurk 

The Men had a great tradition, 

And the Women were new to the work. 

Yet they struck far Into the future, 
And shut their ears to the past, — 

And the pain and wound of the present 
Were nothing but blood at the last. 

The Men had the city to squander. 
The joy of the field and the tent — 

And nobody knew but the Women 
What the battle really meant. 

God stayed His law for the contest. 
While the angels held their breath, — 

And the red tide rose to the arm-pits, 
And the struggle to live was death. 



And the battle pealed to the mountains. 
And day stood stark in the sky. 

While the Men looked on to the triumph, 
And the Women looked on to die. 



THE BATTLE OF THE NEW AGE 47 

They fought for the sake of the Others, 
They struck for an unknown end, 

Where every face was a lover's. 
And every foe was a friend. 

They fought both swordless and hopeless, 
They saw where the death must strike. 

And nobody knew but the Women 
What dying for nothing was like. 

God said, '' They have wiped out Eden— 

I have nothing left to forgive.'' 
And when the battle was over 

The Women had died to live. 



JEALOUS 

Drop my hand, Edith, and turn away — 
The Gods decreed that this thing should be; 

And I always knew there must come a day 

You would care for some one more than for me. 

Yield my heart, Edith, and go your way, 
I have no wrong that I should forgive; 

He has blue eyes, has he ? — and mine are grey I — ■ 
And a softer voice than I wooed you with ? 



48 JEALOUS 

But whether his eyes be so very blue, 
Or only because of the love they tell, 

So long as they look the same to you, 
You are right to say you have chosen well. 

And whether he speak in a softer voice 
Than other men — and it may be true — 

We know^ at least he is Edith's choice. 
God bless him — since he is dear to you. 



THE GAME OF LIFE 

I PLAYED with Time for gifts — as unaware 
I threw the dice he leaned upon my chair 
And blew his powdered silver on my hair. 

I played for Wisdom, but the luck was cross, 

For I won knowledge, and I took the loss. 

Time said, '* Pay me in Youth — you must perforce." 

I played for Love — '' Stake Love I '' I cried afire. 
Time muttered, '' Will he know me for a liar ? " 
And paid — I gained the guerdon of Desire. 

I played for Fame, and won, the record saith. 
More fame and more ; I laughed against my breath. 
And shook the box again. The dice threw^ Death. 



TO MIGNOX 49 

TO MIGXON 

When you are dead, what shall I say of you ? 
That you had certain graces of your own — 
A gloss upon your hair that always shone, 

And in your eyes a fleeting tone of blue ? 

Or shall I tell the sacred things I knew — 
The subtle cadence of your tender tone, 
The which I used to dream was mine alone, 

And foolishly to garner as my due ? 

But wherefore should I tell the world of men 
The things they may have seen or may have lost. 
Or go repeating what a host have said ? 
I think I shall be very silent then ; 

Forgetting all the beauty that it cost, 
I shall remember only — you are dead. 

SONNET: SATAN 

I AM God's foe — through turbulence of soul 

I rise on hatred to equality, 

Since none have dared to combat Him save I, 
And none save I are absolute and whole 
Without His essence as their heavy dole. 

What ray of God shall any now descry 

In all my infinite entirety ? 
An individual freedom was my goal. 
4 



50 SONNET: SATAN 

God's influence and mine divide the earth. 
Two warring powers — nor can any tell 

Which is the greater — though my feet had trod 
A fiercer flame than Heirs it were well worth. 
If God claim Heaven, I will compass Hell — 
I, who would be Myself, rather than God I 



IN ILLNESS 
(to mignon) 

Like a great silence upon tired ears, 

After the world's unending clash and strain, — 

Like to the blest relief of sudden tears 

To hopeless grief that looked for them in vain,- 

Thy gracious face appears 
Upon the sombre background of my pain. 

Across my night thy smile, like sunshine, moves, 
Until thy memory has grown a prayer, — 

Loved all the more because alone it proves 
Salvation, to a darkened heart's despair, — 

As some sad woman loves 
The only man who ever found her fair. 



IN PARADISE 51 

IN PARADISE 
And ye shall be as gods " 



Let us pray with a voiceless, urgent prayer 

To the great Gods up on high, 
To wipe us clean from the days that were — 

That we die this moment — die ! 
Let us go with our sins all unconfessed, — 

Swept out to the great Unknown ; 
So long as my heart is against your breast 

And we neither go out alone. 

There is nothing to taste or to see again — 

Did we ever find Earth so fair ? 
I have neither the hope of joy or pain 

Whatever may lie Out There. 
They guided us to a place of peace, 

The Gods who sit on the throne, 
And though our Garden of Eden cease 

We shall always know we have known. 

Soiled with sorrow and faint with pain. 

The world was sore to our feet, 
But for one brief space we are rich in gain — 

We have proved there is one thing sweet. 



52 IN PARADISE 

We have reached the goal, we shall climb no higher, 

We shall never find Earth so fair, — 
The Gods will grant us our one desire, 

Our great impenitent prayer I 

Pray that we die now, just like this. 

With your face upturned to mine, 
My conscious life absorbed in the kiss, 

More perfect than if divine ; 
The living silk of your hair unbound 

(Ah, my heart in its gleaming net !) 
A veil to curtain and close us round 

For the space that our lips have met. 

The secret of life behind us lies, 

Made plain as a printed scroll ; 
Before us the void where the soul that dies 

Is 'reft of its right of soul. 
The Gods have gathered the grains of gold — 

They have given us all our share ; 
There is nothing left that our hands may hold 

Save memory and despair. 



LA GRANDE PASSION 53 

LA GRANDE PASSION 

(written in church) 

Sweet, let me kiss your hand I 
If it so be a man may stand 

So near to bliss. 
Blue veins along the wrist, 
Soft palm, made to be kissed, 
So take my claim to honour with the kiss. 



Sweet, let me kiss your feet I 
If it so be a man may meet 

A joy like this. 
Step on my heart as well, 
And tread me into Hell, 
So take my pride of living with the kiss. 



Sweet, let me kiss your lips I 
If it so be I may eclipse 

The Heaven I miss. 
One moment's perfect sin, 
To suck the sweetness in . . . 
So take my hope of Heaven with the kiss. 



54 LA GRANDE PASSION 

Sweet, let me kiss your breast, 
If it so be a man may rest 

So near to bliss. 
Ah, pillowed thus to lie, 
To kiss you and to die 1 — 
So take my soul and body with the kiss. 



MAGNA EST NATURA, ET PREVALEBIT 

The wind went wailing down the croft, 

As she sat lonely in the room; 
The patter of the rain fell soft 
Across the gloom. 

She said, " My curse upon the name 

^Yhich not to bear is my disgrace ! ** 
And in the agony of shame 
She hid her face. 



A sunbeam struck across the floor, 

Crowning a little golden head; 
A voice spoke softly at the door — 
'' Mother 1 " it said. 



MAGNA EST NATURA, ET PREVALEBIT 55 

She turned her face as God above — 

She smiled as Angels never smiled, — 
And in the agony of love 

She kissed his child. 

A BALLAD OF LATE SPRING 

I HAD no hope of buttercups at all, 

Nor looked to see white lilac plume the spray, 
In vain for me the apple-bloom would fall, 
Nor did mine eyes take any heed of May. 
*' Too late,'' I said, '' she loiters on the way, 
This hour that was my happiness to bring,'' 
And all the world was colourless and grey. 
So long my heart had waited for the Spring. 

When, on a sudden, lo, the sombre pall. 

Was stabbed with sunbeams, — ray on golden ray I 
Across the meadow came a cuckoo call. 
And Spring had come upon us in a day. 
But ah I she came when Hope had gone astray. 

With Love long-fled, and Friendship on the wing. 
I cared no more though she should go or stay. 
So long my heart had waited for the Spring. 

Slow-footed Spring I singing her madrigal 
To ears grown dull with straining for the lay. 

She came as though her bounty would forestall 
The granted prayer that I no longer pray I 



56 A BALLAD OF LATE SPRING 

But little did I heed her yea or nay, — 
No longer could I feel her nettles sting, 

Nor for my debt could all her flowers pay, — 
So long my heart had waited for the Spring. 

ENVOI 

When Summer came, and all the land was gay 
With roses, I had still no mind to sing ; 

In vain for me the Autumn's brave array. 
Whose heart had died in waiting for the Spring. 



LOWER LONDON 

(k. e. l.) 

Beneath His quiet skies — His quiet skies ! — 

We shriek and die. 
And watch the morning and the eve go by, 
And shudder to this God, who does not heed our 
cries. 

We could bear all things were He less divine — 

He does not care I 
He set us in this toil of our despair, 
And straight withdrew Ilimself, and gave no hint 
of His design. 



LOWER LONDON 57 

Grey pall of sullen cloud and sapphire dim 

Are all we meet, 
Until His sunset breaks along the street 
And turns our sordid City to a fleeting proof of Him. 

But then the cloud returns, the glory dies — 

Men shriek and curse 
In gaslit hells that show them nothing worse 
Than open night beneath His quiet skies . . . 

His quiet skies I 

LORD GOD OF BATTLES 
(a prayer in time of peace) 

Be thy name Jove or Jehovah, 

Odin or Allah or Brahm, 
Hear us from out of all ages, 

Grant that we die not of calm ! 
Lord God of Battles, 

Show forth the strength of Thine arm ! 

Thou that art known of all Nations, 

Ruler and giver of might. 
Guiding the foot to the onslaught, 

Teaching the fingers to fight, — 
Lord God of Battles, 

Grant that we wrestle aright. 



58 LORD GOD OF BATTLES 

Thy Spirit, breathed forth from Thy nostrils, 
Has numbered and chosen His own; 

By the flame He has set in their foreheads. 
Is the source of their Poethood shown, — 

Lord God the Father, 
Thou art the God we have known. 

Thy Christ, called Buddha and Balder — 
The same in the Now and the Then — 

Bends dovm to the women and children 
Who never entreat Him in vain — 

Lord God of Battles, 
Heed Thou to us — we are men I 

Hurl on our sluggard stagnation 

A foeman with whom we may strive. 

Give us the joy of the contest — 
The goodliest gift Thou canst give. 

Lord God of Battles, 
Let us not die ere we live 1 



BLOOM BE NINON 

Madame St. Jean de Ramineau, 
She owns a score of names, — 

Cecile and Clari are hers, I know, 
And Eulalie too she claims. 



BLOOM DE NIXON 59 

Madame St. Jean — nee Mademoiselle — 

Is foreign — believe we must ; 
And yet, she knows her English so well — 

But one takes her French on trust I 



Tiens, Madame 1 you are Nature's type 

Of a paltry, tinsel sect. 
There are hints that your fruit is over-ripe — 

That you are not too select. 



From a single glance at your whites and reds 

The men have much to say, 
And the virtuous women turn their heads 

And look the other way. 



With a careless marvelling interest 
The World may count your years, 

And speculate on the slight-formed breast- 
But who will count your tears ? 



Who cares indeed ? You are old enough 
For the chance a man might take — 

You are young enough for the sort of stuff 
Such women as you should make. 



60 BLOOM DE NINON 

But you never have stepped beyond the line 

Your virtuous vices draw ; 
An invitation to come and dine — 

Or you close your parlour door. 

Only the passer in the street 

May guess your rightful place 
By the scent about you — the over-sweet — 

By the paint upon your face. 

The Badge of Livery set aside, 

Who dares assert his thought ? 
Not in the street are your bargains cried, 

Nor your merchandise is bought. 

One guesses — yes, from the high-pitched voice, 
From those pinks and whites of yours; 

We may guess on the road how you make your 
choice — 
But they know you well Indoors I 

If your name at table by chance arise 

The men have nought to say, 
And respectable women turn their eyes 

And look the other way. 



TO A. G. 61 



TO A. G. 



Some day, when I have fallen fast asleep, 
With half my work undone it well may be, 
And you perhaps are grieving silently, 

Because it never was your way to weep — 

Look back across the years to me, and keep 
This last word that I write in memory ; 
Sleep was the only guerdon craved by me — 

Pray that it be eternal^ calm and deep. 

If I dared pray at all, it would be this : 
" Grant me a gift to compensate for pain. 

Not human love or succour — not a kiss — 

Nor breath of fame — nor greed fulfilled with gain, 

Oh Thou, who knowest every painful breath, 

Not life, dear God 1 not life at all — but death." 

A CONFESSION OF FAITH 

Not on the barren ground 
That men call consecrate, 
Behind some sect-locked gate, 

Thy presence have I found. 

Nor in the mouldering Church 
Where ghosts of dead faiths trod, 
Have I met Thee, O God, 

However I might search. 



62 A CONFESSION OF FAITH 

But in some pagan place 

Where men have toiled and sinned, 
Sudden, unlooked-for, kind, 

Have I beheld Thy face. 



Thus I acknowledge Thee — 

From so-called Faiths I turned, 
Heart-sick, till I discerned, 

God in Humanity. 



A WET JUNE 

June is dying — is dying I 

What month can take her place ? 
She fell in love with Summer, 

And pined to see his face. 

She made a tryst with the Summer, 
That the Summer never kept, 

The roses moped in their budhood. 
And the June skies wept. 

He left her long days sunless, 
Till Midsummer-day went by ; 

He loitered, a tardy suitor. 
For his late love, July. 



A WET JUNE 63 

Till at last when June was dying, 

His heart grew eager to wed, 
And he heaped the couch with his roses, 

Where June lies — dead. 



RONDEAUX D'AMOUR 



Before the night come and the day expire 
The blossoms redden with the sun's desire ; 
Only the passion-flowers are colourless, 
Burnt up and wasted with their own excess, 
And tinted like the ashes of their fire. 



Look down and see the reddest rose aspire 
To touch your hand ; he climbs the trellis wire, 
Burning to reach your indolent caress. 
Before the night. 

Ah sweet, be wise I for all too soon we tire 
When once the longed-for guerdon we acquire. 
The treasure that we think not to possess 
Once in our keeping, charms us less and less, — 
Nay, let us love, nor all too much inquire 
Before the night. 



64 RONDEAUX D'AMOUR 

II 

During the night I felt you breathing deep 
Against my heart, and yet I did not weep 
With perfect passion ; fearing only this, 
One golden moment of the night to miss, — 
The sacred night that was not made for sleep I 

The stairs of life stretch upward, dim and steep, 
Midway between a grief and joy I creep ; 
But let us, for this once, have tasted bliss 
During the night. 

Strained to my heart I felt your pulses leap, 
And this is the remembrance I shall keep 
When all the serpents of oblivion hiss — 
Of two who only clung too close to kiss. 
We sowed in love, in passion do we reap 
During the night. 



Ill 

After the night Love wearied of his powers, 
He fell asleep among the passion-flowers. 

I felt the darkness solemnly withdrawn ; 

A dewy whiteness glimmered on the lawn, — 
Day, weeping for this dear dead Night of ours I 



RONDEAUX D'AMOUR 65 

Vague greyish lights that first had threatened showers 
Deepened to golden, till the rosy hours 
Trembled with tender passion to the dawn 
After the night. 

Wan in the daylight looked our crystal towers 
Rising above the blossom-tinted bowers. 

The world looked strangely on us in the morn. 

Love shuddered in his sleep as one forsworn, — 
Poor Love I who trembles at himself, and cowers, 
After the night. 

IN THE TIME OF SILENCE 

When all sweet words are said and over, 
And all the hunger for music stilled, — 
When even the lips of the hottest lover 

Drip no more with the honey spilled, — 
A quiver of passion seems to linger, 

Like echo of tremulous singing birds — 
Some God has stirred the air with his finger 
Because the silence is more than words. 
A moment's charm 
While the kiss hangs warm 
In silence-time. 

When all sad words are said and over, 
Draw close the fold of the sterile sheet, 
5 



66 IN THE TIME OF SILENCE 

That has no secrets of love to cover, 

From pulseless bosom to quiet feet. 
Look down on the eyes that have closed on sorrow,- 

The set lips, parted no more to kiss, — 
The whole fair body that cheats To-morrow 
Though Yesterday robbed To-day of bhss. 
Life had words in store, 
But death says more 
In silence-time. 

THE BALLAD OF THE SHIP 

They called the ship the Fatalist, 

And sent her out to sea; 
She came, how^ever her helm resist, 

To a land where she would not be ; 
And ever the haven that she missed 

Lay hard upon her lee. 

They called the ship the Fatalist, 
And drove her through the waves; 

She made her way, as the sailors wist, 
Across their open graves ; 

For ever she went as her will should list, 
And they were but her slaves. 

They called the ship the Fatalist, 
She lost a dozen men; 



THE BALLAD OF THE SHIP 67 

From bridge and rigging were they missed, 

None knew the how or when. 
But her swinging bows and her mainmast wist, 

For they saw the death of ten. 

They called the ship the Fatalist — 

Accurst from mast to keel ; 
With heavy wrath in his clenched fist, 

And judgment 'neath his heel, 
God walks the bridge by night, ye wist, 

And the Devil takes the wheel. 



FOLK SONG 

This is the lore the old wife knows 
Who sees the storm draw nigh, 

And wind and cloud together close 
The windows of the sky. 

" The North wind is man's wind, 

Entangled with his Fate ; 
In that he joyed, in that he sinned. 

It chants his love and hate. 

" The West wind is the Angels' wind ; 

He sweeps their lyre strings. 
And where the grey storm-clouds are thinned 

We see their rushing wings. 



68 FOLK SONG 

*' The East wind is the Devil's wind, 
And stings with fire and ice ; 

But the South wind is God's wind, 
And blows from Paradise 1 

" And whence they go none mortal knows 

Who hears them riding by ; 
We can but watch them as they close 

The windows of the sky." 



THE BALLAD OF THE LITERARY HACK 

To learn to wield a facile pen 

And cater for the quick or dense, — 
To write all styles, — to suit all men, 
The flippant to the most intense, — 
To coin opinions upon '' Sense " 

And then a mirthless joke to crack 
With brazen-hearted impudence — 
This is the Literary Hack I 

To write a '' Sonnet in the Glen '* — 

And sell his poetry for pence I — 
An article on Mushrooms — then 

On some great man's benevolence ; 



THE BALLAD OF THE LITERARY HACK 69 

To swear with utmost violence 

That black is white and white is black, 

And then forswear some weeks hence — 
This is the Literary Hack I 

To beard the '' Lion '' in his den 

And seek to '' interview '* him thence ; 
To speak of things beyond his ken 
With much (apparent) confidence : 
And after care and toil immense 
To gain the Journalistic knack 
At ev'ry finer art's expense — 
This is the Literary Hack I 

ENVOI 

Scribes, little boots the vain pretence 

That no accomplishment we lack ; 
The truth exclaims through our pretence, 

" This is the Literary Hack ! " 



FOR THE NATION 

A PLEA TO ALL PARTIES IN PARLIAMENT 

My Lords and Commons, you decide 

The limits of the land- 
Close up our ports or fling them wide 

To trade on either hand ; 



70 FOR THE NATION 

To trust you is the Nation's pride 
Who placed you in command. 

But you, until the Flag is furled, 

See that you keep us free 
The Road that runs across the World 
The Highway of the sea I 

If it be true our people's ease 

Depends upon our mart. 
The terror of unguarded seas 

Threatens the Nation's heart : 
My Lords and Commons, what of these ? 
We trust you for our part. 

While party cries and threats are hurled 

For *' Trade " no longer '' free," 
Keep us the Road across the World — 
The Highway of the sea. 

Not only at a foeman's pride 
To deal the moment's blow. 
But that, for ever, far and wide 

The English ships should go, — 
It was for this that Nelson died 
A hundred years ago I 

Wherever breakers climbed and curled — 

Wherever surfs ran free — 
He made our Road across the World, 
And gave us all the sea. 



FOR THE NATION 71 

My Lords and Commons, dazed with laws, 

Reform, and party fray, 
Remember still the primal cause 
That makes us great to-day — 
The man who pulled the galley oars 
Began the Empire's sway ! 

And so, until the Jack is furled 
(Until the Union Jack is furled !) 

See that you keep us free 
The Road that runs across the World — 
The English pass-word round the World — 
The Highway of the sea 1 

THE SHIP MASTERS 

From '' Captain Amyas " 

" Very rightly many of us have been insisting, in season and 
out ol season, upon the maintenance of an overwhelmingly strong 
British Navy, but meanwhile the Mercantile Marine of Great 
Britain, without which the Navy is useless, has been allowed to 
drift into such a position that we may wake up any morning and 
find that it no longer exists.*' 

Frank T. Bullen. 

What will you give them, England ? The Masters 

of the Sea I 
Hardly a Captain among them save by title of 

courtesy. 
But they own the sternest prefix of any that yet 

may be. 



72 THE SHIP MASTERS 

They have fed your teeming milHons from inaccessible 

lands ; 
They have carried your troops to battle — read the 

record as it stands I 
They look for no recognition, Master or 'Foremast 

Hands. 

They go at the word of an Owner where your Navy 

scarce dare go, 
Down to the Horn that spares not, and up to the 

deathly Floe ; 
There is never a sea that daunts them, a peril they 

do not know. 

They are trained by the storm and the breakers 

when the scud is flying free ; 
They are drilled by the racking night-watch while 

the aching hours flee ; 
Your Navy fights with your foemen, but your Masters 

fight the sea. 

Slighted like a Militia — looked on with scorn and 

doubt ; 
(Harder trained than your Navy, and worked year 

in, year out I) 
Forty per cent, not British — who's Britain to care 

about ? 



THE SHIP MASTERS 73 

If your Empire at sea is threatened, on these you 

must call to serve : 
Mocked with their training and titles, you must 

trust them not to swerve — 
The Men of the Merchant Service, and the Royal 

Naval Reserve ! 

Look to your bulwarks, England 1 look to your flag 

unfurled ; 
Point in pride to your Navy, the greatest in all the 

world. 
And what of the sister Service across your oceans 

hurled ? 

What will you give them, England ? A grudging 

retaining fee ; 
Neither position nor credit, training nor real degree, — 
The men of your Merchant Service, the Masters of 

the sea I 



THE FLOWER-SELLER 

" Violets, sir ? " 
She cries her wares the usual way, 
A penny buys the right to stay 
And stare a moment's space at her. 



74 THE FLOWER-SELLER 

One may perhaps perceive a grace, 
Despite the death upon her face — 
" Violets, sir I '' 

" Violets, sir ? " 
The sun has warmed the City flags 
Beneath her feet, and dried her rags. 
The sun is kind, even to her. 
With starving eyes she follows still 
The crowds that pass her by at will — 

" Violets, sir I " 

'' Violets, sir ? " 
Her basket shows a scented heap. 
One splendid colour, soft and deep, 
And such a contrast matched with her, — 
This mud-stained wreck, who plies her trade 
On perfect things that God has made 1 — 

'' Violets, sir I '' 



CRICKET 

There's an English law it is well to heed, 
Though unwritten all the same. 

And dark as Sanscrit to alien ears. 
It is this — that you Play the Game. 



CRICKET 75 

You may lie to a woman, if only, at need. 

You lie for her, royally ; 
You may cheat your friend in a business way. 

So long as it's business — see ? 
But you mustn't rat, and you mustn't sneak. 

Or the Devil himself cries *' Shame I " 
You may set your foot on the Decalogue 

So long as you Play the Game. 



Play up, play hard, for all you are worth. 

Is a maxim we learned at school ; 
And don't look back to the olden track — 

Lot's wife was a sorry fool. 
If you haven't a virtue, stand by a vice, 

But to even a vice be true ; 
Every man has a dearest sin, 

And women have often two. 
With heart and soul on a passing goal. 

And never a sigh for the same ; 
If a thing's worth doing, it's worth the rueing- 

But see that you Play the Game, 



76 TO MY CIGARETTE 

TO MY CIGARETTE 

Little friend of mine, may no division 

Come between us with a breath malign I 
If I ever thought we should be parted, 
Brief or long, I should be broken-hearted, 
Little friend of mine. 

Dearer than a kiss, though ne'er so tender, 

Do I count your own familiar bliss. 
I, grown cynical, would rather fold you 
Close between my lips, in that I hold you 
Dearer than a kiss. 

Is my cigarette but smoke ? — Its solace 

Never failed to soothe and comfort yet I 
While I am a bachelor, and human. 
Dearer than the favour of a woman 
Is my cigarette. 

THE RULING PASSION 
(autumn in the west) 

They have clipped the riotous Summer hedges. 

The fields are as bare as your naked hand ; 
Even the banks are trimmed to the edges — 

There is room to move in the quiet land. 



THE RULING PASSION 77 

But the leafy lanes were better for roving ; 

The shade and the tangle loosed the tongue ; 
Summer whispers of youth and loving — 

Autumn cries only that you are young I 

The thin blue smoke of the rubbish burning 

Rises straight in a flawless air ; 
Down in the hollow the leaves are turning — 

Morning and evening the mists are there. 
Autumn, O Autumn ! you promise slaughter — 

My heart beats quicker, but not with love ; 
While from the coppice where once I sought her 

Comes the call of a mateless dove. 

Easy and soft were the hours of wooing 

Up on the barrows and down the coomb — 
Sunning ourselves to our own undoing. 

Sheltering close in a rainy gloom I 
Summer slipt off in the rain and left us — 

Autumn, you traitor, what have you done ? 
Of bliss untasted you have bereft us — 

The words half spoken, the maid half won. 

The barrels shine for an extra rubbing 
Of the 12-bore Purdey most dear to me ; 

My hunter pulls for the early cubbing, 
His strong heart beating under my knee. 



78 THE RULING PASSION 

Go and seek for the brief-lived passion 
By sullen barrow and stormy tor, — 

Autumn fires me in other fashion — 
I am a sportsman, and woo no more 1 

ON THE DEVONSHIRE DOWNS 

A MEMORY OF A SUMMER HOLIDAY 

Purple spheres of the purple heather, 
Golden kingdoms of golden gorse — 

These, that Nature repeats for ever, 
Keep the same uneventful course ; 

Golden gorse and purple heather — 
Purple heather and golden gorse. 

Wind and sun in the Summer weather. 

Wind and snow through the Winter's reign ; 

Always wind, and wind for ever. 
Rushing over the helpless plain. 

Winds that sweep through the purple heather, 
Winds that buffet the gorse again. 

Patient grasses make small resistance — 
The wind is king, he does as he wills — 

But the picture keeps to its sweet insistence — 
Heather and gorse the foreground fills, 

And still the road in the purple distance 
Winds away through the endless hills. 



ON THE DEVONSHIRE DOWNS 79 

Downs of Devon, in glad wild weather 

Memory sees you still, perforce ! 
Still the road runs on for ever, 

Still the same monotonous course — 
Golden gorse and purple heather, 

Purple heather and golden gorse. 

STADDON HEIGHTS 

With Staddon on the starboard, 

And Edgcumbe on the bow, 
I'd like to come a-sailing 

Into Plymouth Harbour now ; 
The Breakwater behind me 
Across the shining Sound, 
To land me near 
At West Hoe Pier, 
And step on Plymouth ground, 

'Way out from Jackman's stables. 

Across the Laira Bridge, 
I've ridden out to Staddon, 
By Oreston to the ridge ; 
The township flung behind us, 
A sheaf of silver roofs. 
Below, the surf, — 
And on the turf 
The ^thrumming of our hoofs I 



80 STADDON HEIGHTS 

The wind comes in unbroken 

From half a world away, 
While up and down o' Staddon 

The merry golfers play. 
Oh, London town and dreary, 
How tame are your delights I — 
Fd rather go a-riding — 

a-riding, a-riding— 
I'd love to go a-riding 
Away on Staddon Heights I 



DEVON RHYME 



Devon County, 
Be thy bounty 

Gude enough for me. 
Ferns a-growin'. 
Streams a-flowin' 

Outward tu the sea ; 
Apple orchards, 
Fresh-oop pilchards — 

Fare for royalty. 

Whither w^ent ye, 
Whither sent ye. 

For a land like this ? 



DEVON RHYME 81 

Cream o' plenty, 
Maids o' twenty 

Sun-ripe for a kiss. 
Whither sent ye, 
Whither went ye, 

For a warmer bliss ? 



Streams o' Devon — 
Hath 'ee, Heaven, 

Fairer waterfalls ? 
Towns o' Devon — 
Names o' seven 

Still my heart recalls — 
Goombe, Gleeve, Plymouth, 
Starcross, Teignmouth, 

Dulverton, and Trawles. 

Fair, fair Devon, 
Glass' d in Heaven 

As her lovers see. 
Doeth not Devon 
Rhyme with Heaven ? 

So doe they agree. 
God dropped Devon 
Out of Heaven — 

Devon by the sea I 



6 



82 OUTWARD BOUND 



OUTWARD BOUND 

I WILL arise and go South, for the great grey waters 
are calling — 
Calling in urgent- wise to the ear that can hear 
and that lists — 
Away from the North and the Island where drizzle 
and sleet are falling — 
London lost in her fogs, and England wrapt in 
her mists. 



I will arise and go South, through merciless, colourless 
water — 
Nothing to cheer the ship that beats on her out- 
ward way ; 
Scud on her decks blown over her bows, and a wind 
on her quarter — 
Till from the long grey week rises the first blue 
day I 



I will arise and go South, till a kinder Heaven is 
o'er me. 
Repaying the dreary days and the battle and 
hurtle of foam : 



OUTWARD BOUND 83 

Once more out of the sea an Island shimmers before 
me — 
Only my Winter House in the Empire all which 
is Home. 



I will arise and go South, till the croton bids me 
remember — 
Smell of the dust and the sun in my nostrils shall 
once more cling — 
Dear, warm weather to breathe by lungs long bound 
by December, 
Fireflies in the trees, and nights when the crickets 
sing. 



Over the crowns of the palms the sky is a violet 

blossom, 
Warm is the wind as a kiss that falls from a 

coveted mouth — 
Great stars lean to the Earth from the Heaven's 

passionate bosom — 



There is snow in my Northern Island — 

I will arise and go South. 



84 HOMEWARD BOUND 

HOMEWARD BOUND 

We must go back. — 

The urgent North recalls. 

The sheltered days of Summering are done, 
And long-drawn pleasure finds that pleasure palls. 

But ah ! the first day that we miss the sun I 



We must go back to duties left behind — 
The fight unended and the strife unwon — 

Some joy, maybe, in battle we may find. — 
But ah I the first day that we miss the sun I 



We must go back to colder winds and skies ; 

All the old customs take us, one by one — 
Back where the gradual seas acclimatise. — 

But ah ! the first day that we miss the sun I 



A keener breath of morning takes our breath, 
The sting is in our veins to leap and run, 

Meet strenuous Life ere overcome by Death.— 
But ah I the first day that we miss the sun I 



HOMEWARD BOUND 85 

The Tropics fade upon the arch of sea 

Ringing the vast horizon. — Hark ! the gun, 
Warning us of farewell and destiny ; 

The North-east lies ahead, back to their Home 

Steadily, steadily the English come 
However winds may blow and Summers flee. 
This is the ending of our liberty. ... 

But ah I the first day that we miss the sun ! 

A BALLAD OF JAMAICAN FRUITS 

With which of their names shall praise begin ? 

The golden globe of the Orange glows, — 
Mangoes are ripe to the juicy skin, — 
Guava scents every wind that blows. 
Strange sweet fruits with a name one knows I 

Grape fruit has never a grape in hand, 
And never an apple that England grows 
In Rose-apple, Star-apple, Pineapple Land I 

Passion-fruit all must our praises win. 

Though a different juice from Sweetcup flows 
To the Grenaditta, and larger twin 
Grenadilla, on vines a-doze ; 
Citrons such as Demeter chose. 

Limes and Lemons of finest brand, — 
The Sour-sop comes ere the Sweet-sop goes 
In Rose-apple, Star-apple, Pineapple Land. 



86 A BALLAD OF JAMAICAN FRUITS 

Naseberries claim our medlars kin, — 

Sweet the pulp that their rinds enclosed I 
They say the Shaddock caused Eve to sin 
And wrought the beginning of all our woes. 
To-day no pluckings a fine impose, 

Nor fruit is barred by Divine Command; 
Earth's gifts are scathless to friends or foes 
In Rose-apple, Star-apple, Pineapple I and. 

ENVOI 

Last, but most cherished, — in rows on rows 
The plants of its cultivation stand, — 

Green *' hands '' of Banana the list shall close 
In Rose-apple, Star-apple, Pineapple Land I 



IN EXTREMIS 

I HAVE done wrong, — but I love you. 

See, I appeal to that sky 
No more, alas ! spread above you — 

What Saint loves better than I ? 
Heedless of omen or warning, 

When have I failed to pursue ? 
As the full day loves the dawning, 
I have loved you. 



IN EXTREMIS 87 

I have faced sin and known sorrow ; 

Now I have learned, in my scorn, 
Nothing is sad save To-morrow — 

Empty, because you are gone. 
Too fast asleep to heed crying ? 

Dead, and indifferent too ? — 
Oh beyond sleep, beyond dying, 
I have loved you I 

I have loved still, unforgiven, — 
Will that plea hold when one stands 

Full at the gateways of Heaven, 
Beating with impotent hands ? 

Others may enter the Garden, 
Find you and Paradise too ; 

Others love God, and win pardon . . . 
I — have loved you. 

THE BALLAD OF THE AUSTRALIAN PASSAGE 

The Southern Seas were singing 

" To the Eastward, follow me I '* 
Forty South the Ship went winging 

Till she met the West Wind free. 
Fair aft the tempest-sport is. 

And she scuds before its frown, 
To make the Roaring Forties, 

And to run the Easting down. 



88 BALLAD OF THE AUSTRALIAN PASSAGE 

White into a blue world bringing 

Came the '' Horses," three by three — 
Right-angled to her swinging 

Down the choral Southern Sea, 
Three abreast they made their sorties, 

And the ninth wave threatened " Drown I '' — 
But we made the Roaring Forties, 

And we ran the Easting down. 



There's an old remembrance stinging 

Through a life I fain would flee — 
Sights and scents around me clinging 

In this City slavery. 
Far from all such muck my thought is- 

Far away from London Town, — 
Once again we make the Forties, 

And we run the Easting down I 

ENVOI 



Bliss that never may be bought, is 
In the dream of old renown, — 

When we made the Roaring Forties, 
And WQ ran the Easting down t 



A BUSH FIRE 89 

A BUSH FIRE 

(WYNBERG, SOUTH AFRICA) 

Across the Wynberg Camp at night, 

The warning of the bugle came ; 
They turned the Regiment out to fight 

The growing flame — 
For half the mountain seemed alight. 

None knew the whole disaster wrought, 

But still the great South-Easter blew : — 
From Wynberg out to Bishop's Court 

The signal flew 
Till Newlands read the flames' report. 

The watchers stood in silent doubt : — 
A horseman galloped down the lane, 
They heard him raise a warning shout — 

*' Pray God for rain I 
Perhaps the men may tramp it out.'* 

And still the red light flared on high. 

And still the red coats flared beneath, 
And clouds of smoke went rolling by. 

With eyes of death, 
The mountain glared upon the sky. 



90 A BUSH FIRE 

The country-side was all alight, 

They tramped it out till day came back 
To show the havoc of the night. 

Then, charred and black. 
The barren mountain rose in sight. 



Vine and plantation, one and all. 

Had vanished in the hours of dark. 
From trivial cause beyond recall — 

The careless spark 
Some drunken Kaffir's pipe let fall I 



PORT SAID 

The Ships call to each other 
Across the mouth of the way 

Leading down into Egypt — 
Leading out to the day 

Of India, gemmed and pearled, 
" What is the track, O brother ? 

This is a Gate of the World I " 



The lights flash in their order — 
Orange and green and red — 
Out to the vast horizon : 



PORT SAID 91 

And on each felucca's head 

The solemn sails are furled. 
This is the Red Sea's warder — 

One of the Gates of the World. 

And the sight may go out for ever 
To the endless water-ways 

Glimmering under the crescent 
Of the silver-gilt moon-rays ; 

And the great Ships hither hurled 
From the far lands whence they sever 

Drive through this Gate of the World. 

All alive in the nights 

The city rings on the shore ; — 

The Coolies' call at the coaling — 
The syrens shrieking their lore 

To the bay-line cunningly curled 
Round the dreadful rows of the lights. — 
This is a Gate of the World. 

She opens her iron jaws 

For the great high road of the Ships ; — 

Gall her the Sink of Europe — 
She laughs with alien lips I 

She is but the flag unfurled 
That marks the way of our laws. — 

One of the Gates of the World I 



92 CAIRO 



CAIRO 



FoAM-spray of almond blossoms beneath your palace 

walls — 
Across the mushrubiyeh a shadow flits and falls : 
Dark eyes above the yashmak, bare feet upon the 

floor, 
The clink of silver anklets that kiss, and ... I 

adore I 



Beneath the mushrubiyeh I, ghost-like, come and go, 
For hint of hoarded beauty Feringhe may not know : 
But locked to me the dulab, — and all my heart recalls 
Is foam of almond blossom tossed up your palace 
walls. 



IN THE CARMO GARDEN 

(old funchal) 

Breath o' the roses through the scentless palms 
That spread their fans in blessing overhead 
Hiding the great blue sky, — 
Heaven is out of sight, — stretch out your arms. 
For this is Eden given us instead. — 
Even you and I. 



IN THE GARMO GARDEN 93 

The languid quiet of the afternoon 

Is one with all the words I have to say, 
With all that you reply ; 
While Winter in this land is warm as June, 
Enough for us that day slides into day — 
Even you and I. 

The shadows of the palm fall down and miss 

The sweetness of your mouth turned to the sun, — 
Why did you almost sigh ? 
Lips that have no more words to say can kiss — 
We find our tired love but new-begun, 
Even you and I. 

The warmth of all our days is in your hand 
Closed up in mine — all our past dreamy days 
That floated slowly by. 
And all the sweetness of the flowery land 

Lies deep between your breasts. . . . We know 
love's ways, 
Even you and I ! 

The Gods have slipped a measure of delight 
Into our lives* unloveliness and tears 
To bless us ere we die. — 
From perfect day to yet more perfect night 
We have found a joy to pay for all our years, 
Even you and I. 



94 A SUN SONG 

A SUN SONG 

Upon an eastern morning 

Came Sunrise to the pane, 
And tapped upon the window, 

Who does not tap in vain : 
I opened wide the casement. 

He rushed into the room, 
And bless' d my waiting breakfast, 

And chased the sentry, Gloom. 

Upon a western evening 

Came Sunset to my door, 
To say good-night and bless me 

The same as all the poor : 
He put aside my labour. 

He kissed my tired hands — 
O never shut the Sun out. 

The Sun, who understands. 

THE CREATIONS OF A VOICE 

(m. j. s.) 

Across the dark, and across the dark, 
Her voice went stealing for who might hark, 
As red as love, and as white as sin. 
It sought the shadows to weave them in- 
And what was the music saying ? 



THE CREATIONS OF A VOICE 95 

It told of a wordless, wild delight — 

Under the stars of a Summer night, 
Aloof and afar from the yearning Earth 
Who feels the pangs of the first sin's birth — 
(Hush I she is only playing I) 

And the pungent scent that the night discloses 

Of endless gardens of endless roses 

That day has stained with so deep a red 
They keep the colour though day has sped. 
(Oh why is our bliss delaying ?) 

Hand in hand, till the clinging palms 
Change somehow to the clinging arms — 
A fall of notes and a liquid rush — 
The music trails into silence. . . . Hush I 
It leaves us dumbly praying. 

Across the dark, and across the dark. 
Her voice went stealing for w^ho should hark.— 
We are but shadows of love and sin — 
She found us there and she wove us in. 
And a real existence we shall not win 
In the land where her voice is straying. 



96 A MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE 



A MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE 

Say certain words above them, 
And swear their union blessed 
By Church's rites confessed. 
O Father and O Mother, 
Pray God that He will love them. 

Since they do not love each other I 



In sacred ritual steep them, 
For mutual commution. 
Of lacking absolution, 

One conscience voice to smother; 
Saying '' The devil keep them ! " 

For they will not keep each other. 



The lie in God's name spoken. 
Absolves a carnal union. 
More than Love's own communion 
Without the legal leaven 1 
But when the rite is broken 

They will be nearer Heaven. 



WORDS WITHOUT MUSIC 97 



WORDS WITHOUT MUSIC 

Go, little song I 
Some day, it may be, one will chance to read 
And recognising all thy tuneless need 

Will make thy rhythm sweeter and more strong 
By golden melody. 

Child of my heart — 
Born of the unvoiced soul that sends thee forth — 
What credit is to me, helplessly wroth 

Because I cannot sing thee for my part ? 
Be thou my harmony. 

I do thee wrong 
Mouthing thee to the music that I miss. 
But O, thou Singer, take my words, and kiss 

A soul into this body, sweet and strong I . . . 
Go, little song 1 



HETERODOX 

Strive not for Heaven — better things there be. 
The common bribe to virtue was decreed 
By those who thought to save a soul through greed — 

Let their religion be too low for thee I 
7 



98 HETERODOX 

Be good for pity's sake and charity, 

Nor bargain with Thy God for future meed ; 
The saving of thy soul's a little deed, 

And selfish, though thou gain Eternity. 

But to look back and say *' I helped this man — 

This woman came to me to comfort her I " — 
Though all Earth's grief were garnered in thy span 
Thou hast done well to live and minister. 

More than the preacher's bribe of Heaven to 

gain. 
This thought shall compensate thee for thy pain. 

MAUD 

A QUATRAIN ACROSTIC 

Many will cross your path in careless wise 

And say their say of you — but who shall dare. 
Under the shadow of your wealth of hair, 

Describe the summer darkness of your eyes ? 

ROUNDEL 

''beyond the sea" 

Beyond the sea there lies a land unfound — 

A land undreamed of save by you and me — 
God made it for us out of light and sound — 
Beyond the sea. 



ROUNDEL 99 

Shall we go thither, souls and bodies free, 
And set our willing feet on holy ground. 
Hallowed for us by infinite decree ? 

Ah, love, remember that the World is round, 

We should but find the same old paths to flee — 
Our land lies somewhere out of Earthly bound. 
Beyond the sea. 



PANTOUN 

THE WEST WIND 

I CAME across the hills before the dawn, 
I whistled through the Cities of the Plain, 

When morning streaked the East with grey and fawn 
I brought the clouds up laden with the rain. 

I whistled through the Cities of the Plain, 
Men looked across the leaden w^aste of sky; 

I brought the clouds up laden with the rain. 
They said, '' The morning breaketh heavily ! " 

Men looked across the leaden waste of sky. 
They saw the clouds fly on before my breath — 

They said, " The morning breaketh heavily. 
And to the east the storm still gathereth." 



100 PANTOUN 

They saw the clouds fly on before my breath- 
Now at high noon I bear the rain away, 

And to the east the storm still gathereth, 
But I shall bear it with me all the day. 



Now at high noon I bear the rain away, 
We leave the moan of Cities far behind ; 

But I shall bear it with me all the day, 
An echo in the ears of humankind. 



We leave the moan of Cities far behind — 
I tremble through the trees, and leave alone 

An echo in the ears of humankind 

From other lands and alien to their own. 



I tremble through the trees, and leave alone 
The blue waves tossing in the turbid sea. 

From other lands and alien to their own 
I bring a message to humanity. 



The blue waves tossing in the turbid sea, 

Stretch up white crests towards the sinking sun ; 

I bring a message to humanity, 

From end to end my task is never done. 



PANTOUN 101 

Stretch up white crests towards the sinking sun, 
And catch, O waves, his blessing ere he die I 

From end to end my task is never done, 

When the sun sinks there at his death am I. 

And catch, O waves, his blessing ere he die. 
For in a moment more he is withdrawn, 

When the sun sinks there at his death am I — 
I came across the hills before the dawn. 



TRIFLES 

From '' Rose-white Youth " 

The scent of a rose — 

A day's pain — 
Thank God, ere one knows 

It has passed again. 

Down in the dust. 
Among alien things — 

Well, even so must 
Love lose his wings. 

But ah I for the dear, brief, 

Lost dehght I— 
And what brought giref 

One moment in sight ? 



102 " I CANNOT TELL " 

" I CANNOT TELL '' * 
From '' Rose-white Youth " 

What is it makes the world so fair 

When buds begin to blow ? 
The may-flowers scent the sunny air — 

What makes them blossom so ? 
'Tis written, " Love makes all things gay, 

And gladdens like a spell." — 
But you — you do not know, you say ; 

And I — I cannot tell I 

The birds sing in the elms above, 

Each calls his mate by name. 
Ah I do they only need to love, 

Or is man's heart the same ? 
If I should ask you this some day, 

I wonder, were it well ? 
But you — you do not know, you say ; 

And I — I cannot tell I 

The flowers droop their heads and sigh 

In early Springtide's hush. 
And something makes my heart beat high, 

And something makes you blush I 

• These verses have been set to music by Henri Lamarqu6. 



" I CANNOT TELL " 103 

Ah, surely love comes with the May, 
And warms your heart, ma belle — 

But you — you do not know, you say ; 
And I — I cannot tell I 



THE BANISHED 
From '' Rose-white Youth " 

I DREAMED that wc had parted — 

That you had gone your way. 
And I was weary-hearted, 

For the world was dull and grey. 
The little things and dreary 

That make the sum of life 
Had left me very weary 

Of all its useless strife. 



Long after we had parted 

My very heart was dumb ; 
I think the w^ounds had smarted 

Until they left it numb. 
We had lived our lives asunder 

So many a morn and even. 
That I had ceased to wonder 

If we should meet in Heaven. 



104 THE BANISHED 

I dreamed that I was dying, 

And through a mist of tears 
I saw them underlying, — 

The long-forgotten years. 
And Angels, sweet with sorrow, 

Had gathered round the place. 
And one had seemed to borrow 

The beauty of your face. 

Long after I was dying — 

I think that I was dead — 
I heard a sound of crying 

From somewhere near my bed. 
The angel-wings had vanished — 

The woman sat alone — 
I knew you then, O banished, 

But I w^as mute as stone. 



LYING IN STATE 

From '' Rose-white Youth *' 

How fast asleep she lies ! how fast asleep I 

Would you have guessed her eyes would ever weep ? 

The peace of God's profound 

Locks her securely round, 
Both calm and deep. 



LYING IN STATE 105 

Hush I hold your breath for fear that she should 

wake, 
And draw not overnear for pity's sake, 
The waking hours smart, 
With life ; what if her heart. 
Should one day — break ? 

She laid her crown aside, as glad to part 

With all the pomp and pride that hurt her heart; 

The love-locks fallen now 

Across her quiet brow, 
Hide wounds that smart. 

How fast asleep she lies I She slumbereth 

As one who grows too wise to strive for breath, 

Nor word can hurt her more. 

Nor scorning leave her sore — 
Asleep in Death. 

A CHILD'S ROUNDELAY 

Sing — song — in the green garden closes. 
*' Give me back my nestlinghood I '* the thrush 
called to the lark. 
** When the dew was on the flowers. 
And the morning woke in showers. 
And all the scents and sounds of Spring made honey 
of the dark I '' 



106 A CHILD'S ROUNDELAY 

Sing — song — but the noonlight now reposes, 
And not a Spring-song wakes the hush, however 
long you hark. 

Sing — song — in the green garden closes. 
" Give me back my budhood 1 " breathed the lily 
to the rose. 
'' In the days when each new-comer 
Dreamt a dream of early Summer, 
And every opening petal did a dearer joy unclose.'* 

Sing — song — but the noonlight now reposes, 
The glowing light is languid, and the world is all 
a-doze. 

Sing — song — in the green garden closes. 
" Give me back my kittenhood ! " the cat purred 
in the grass. 
" When the milk in cream was thicker, 
And the fires knew how to flicker. 
And it seemed worth while to spring upon the shadows 
as they pass. 
Sing — song — but the noonlight now reposes, 
And my tail is not a plaything to my later mind, 
alas ! " 

Sing — song — in the green garden closes. 
" Give me back my childhood ! " sighed the girl to 
the boy. 



A CHILD'S ROUNDELAY 107 

" With my doll went all my blisses, 

I am tired of your kisses, 
And this thing is only sorrow which you told me 
was a joy ! '' 

Sing — song — but the noonlight now reposes, 
And what's the use of crying so for a broken toy ? 



MIRAGE 

From '' As ye have sown " 

If on the sunshine of thy bUss 

A cloud should fall, 
And thou should' st find another's kiss 

Might one day pall, — 
Then would'st thou think of me 
And sigh half tenderly ? 
For I was ever thine — not now alone, but once for all. 

If in some future vet to be 

Thine heart should beat, — 
Hearing, across the thought of me, 

Returning feet, — 
And then thine eyes should fill 
Because they lingered still, — 
Were I a thousand miles afar we still might chance 
to meet ! 



108 MIRAGE 

But since it is for evermore 

An idle theme — 
And 'tis my heart alone that's sore, 

My pain supreme, — 
Smile on without regret, — 
Thou Shalt full soon forget. 
Nor scorn me overmuch, — because I know it is a 
dream. 

LOTI 

LoTi lies in his hammock, swinging — swinging — 
swinging ; 
It stretches from end to end of the Heavens, and 
there he swings all day. 
But at night he sleeps in the hammock, and then 
it is fixed and steady. 
And White Men see it across the Heavens, and call 
it the Milky Way. 

Loti lies in his hammock, and he is the god of the 
children ; 
The mother who longs for the lips at breast, it 
is to him she must pray. 
The little stars run through his fingers, the souls of 
the unborn children. 
But a fallen star is a babe new-born, come down 
on the earth to stay. 



LOTI 109 

Loti laughs in his hammock — the White Men call 
him the Galaxy, — 
Loti, beloved of Winya, the god of the night and 
day I— 
But the little dark Indian children, they know it 
is Loti's hammock, 
And if they are good he will call them back to 
swing in the Milky Way ! 



THE BALLAD OF THE BAR SINISTER 

My mother was a lady. 

Who was married to a lord ; 

But she lost her place in Heaven 
For the glamour of a sword. 



O yellow, yellow was her hair. 
And dimpled was her chin ; 

But will she smile away her guilt, 
That I was born in sin? 



My father was a soldier. 
My lady called him friend. 

An officer — a gentleman — 

Where may such friendships end ? 



110 THE BALLAD OF THE BAR SINISTER 

O fire and passion was iiis heart, 

A woman's soul to win ; 
But will he plead his manly blood, 

That I was born in sin ? 

What should my lady mother give, 
WTio was so wondrous fair — 

What gift for me besides the shame ? 
I have her golden hair. 

My father was of ancient house — 
What may his daughter claim ? 

Nor lands, nor gold, nor high estate, 
Nor even yet his name. 

Nay, but to sadden other men, 

He left me, on this wise, 
A weapon deadlier than death, — 

I have his handsome eyes. 

The fiends made me beautiful. 

The Devil made me clever. 
But they drew the Bar Sinister, 

Across my name for ever. 



YE BALLADE OF YE JOURNALISTS 111 



YE BALLADE OF YE JOURNALISTS 

They come in crowds from the East and the West, 
From the North and the South do the readers 
swell ; 
They gape for the printed word with zest, 
Till the journalist rings the writer's knell. 
Too well do we know the demand — too well. 

The hurried scrawl and the oversight 
That the public is proud to discern and tell — 
For these are the people for whom we write ! 

They know no delicate subtle test 

By which a word or a sentence fell ; 
Give them the worst work, give them the best. 
So long as the paper smokes like h-11. 
The candle flares to the matins bell,. 

The night turns day, and the day grows night, 
To feed the labourer, clerk, or swell — 

For these are the people for whom we write I 

With the last make-up and the edges dressed. 
With the ink still wet and the raw rank smell. 

From the folding-room and the pages pressed, 
To the news-boy, giving the *' daily " yell ; — 



112 YE BALLADE OF YE JOURNALISTS 

The senses reel and the nerves rebel, 
But the paper is out in all men's sight. 

They scarce can read and they cannot spell, — 
And these are the people for whom we write I 

ENVOI 

Princes, labourers, they who dwell 

In palace or tenement, theirs the might ! 

For them do the devilish *' specials " sell, 
For these are the people for whom we write. 



IN MEMORIAM 

JUNE 15, 1906 

If there be aught of good in me, 
Look back along my life 

And find the reason still to be 
In thee, as mother, wife, — 

My very Heaven were at stake 

Were it not certain — for thy sake. 

If there be aught of good and true 

In effort I have tried — 
One coward deed I will not do — 

One selfishness denied — 
One Law that I forbear to break — 
Be sure that it is for thy sake. 



tSMSae^^SM 



IN MEMORIAM 113 

Ah, dear, who never sought to preach 

But only led the way, — 
One frank example, that to reach 

I stumble on to-day, — 
Though but one feeble step I take, 
Be sure that it is for thy sake. 



If there be aught of hope in me 

That God is still above — 
That man's and woman's purity 
May lift their common love, — 
One faith the Devil cannot shake- 
Be sure that it is for thy sake I 



SONNET 

AT THIS LAST 

Now this comes after — I am taught to-day 
Success may be the saddest thing on earth. 
And trivial things that seem of little worth 

Make up the catchword of the roundelay. 

There are no blossoms on my first of May — 
The thorns are bitter on my hawthorn tree- 
And in the fate that cometh after me 

I know not if the sting shall pass away, 
8 



114 SONNET 

Joy calls to others. '' Follow me I " he salth. 

I passed him by and never saw his face. 
Fame looked my friend, and by my quickened 
breath 

I know his voice hath urged me to the race. 

No other comrade sues me of my grace. 
I have one love, — but men have called her Death. 



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